Ghost from the Past - Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies (Book 2)

Ghosts from the Past

Second book in the Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies

Anton Kazakov loved one woman and thought to spend the rest of his life with her. Never would he have imagined that she would betray him, leave him for dead, and disappear completely.

When all that she loved was lost, Natalie Pritchard returned to England to hide from her past and teach at The Wiggons School for Elegant Young Ladies. All has gone as planned, until one fateful night threatens the security she thought she’d found.

Now, Anton has found his Natasha and ghosts from both of their pasts emerge. As the web of treachery, deceit and lies are unwoven, will they survive long enough to find the truth?

                                 Amazon           Barnes & Noble          Kobo            iBooks

Prologue

Saint Petersburg, Russia, February 1801

Anton Kazakov quietly let himself out of the house. On the street he glanced up to her window. He left Natasha to slumber, a small smile on her lips and their marriage well consummated. Dimitri, her brother, would kill him if he knew what they had done tonight. Anton could no longer deny his desire for her, the woman he loved, the woman he married in haste and in secret. With those thoughts in mind, he began his trek home to gather the last of his belongings. Then, he and Natasha would escape Sankt Peterburg and Russia. 

Time was of the essence and he did not want her caught in middle if anyone learned his secrets. The choice had not been an easy one, but he could not stand by and serve a Czar who aligned himself with a madman like Napoleon. If Czar Paul I kept making such unwise decisions, someone was bound to relieve him of his life. But that was not his concern. He had done his duty and needed to relay the latest information he learned of Paul’s expedition in India. Rumors had already been leaked to him that the Russian soldiers were closing in on the Ghost. It was time to disappear.

His steps quickened down the street. An uncertain, uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. It had grown as the day grew long. Hair stood up on the back of his neck. Did the discomfort stem from his desire to always be with Natasha and his fear it may be denied him? Or, did it stem from the dangerous game he played? Perhaps he should just turn around and take her from the country now. He could make do with the clothing on his back until they were safe.

Decision made, Anton altered his route to make his way back to her house but was brought up short by four soldiers.

He gulped and tried to remain calm. Maybe they were not after him. He turned again and hastened his steps.

“Anton Kazakov, halt.”

He broke into a run. Their feet pounded behind him. 

“You are under arrest for high treason, Ghost,” one of them called.

Sweat broke out on his brow. Anton spotted the corner up ahead. He could lose them.

A shot rang out. Pain tore through his back and he stumbled. No, this was not happening. His steps faltered. He tried to run, but he could not make his legs work.

The soldiers caught up to him when he fell to the ground. Anton rolled over and looked up at them. “Who?”

A young soldier grinned. “Natasha Petrov and her brother, Dimitri.”

The others laughed.

“I hope you enjoyed her bed tonight, for that was the last pleasure you will ever know.”

Pain pierced his heart at her betrayal. Worse than the shot in his back. But the soldier had to be lying. Neither Natasha nor Dimitri would ever betray him.

His world went black.

1

But they were happy, for they knew not enough of the world seriously to regret the

want of its enjoyments, though Julia would sometimes sigh for the airy image which

her fancies painted, and a painful curiosity would arise...

A Sicilian Romance

Ann Radcliffe

Cornwall, England, April, 1803

The hair stood up on the back of Natalie Pritchard’s neck. Wind howled and rocked the carriage. She pulled the collar of her pelisse tight. A feeling of foreboding had stayed with her since she and her three students left Lord Hopkins’ estate and she wished it would go away.

Miss Rosemary Fairview and Miss Eliza Weston sat across from her, snuggled against each other and sound asleep. Lady Sophia Trent, whose home had just served as the location for a short holiday, rested next to Natalie. The troublesome trio seemed to be without a care in the world and completely oblivious to the tension engulfing their teacher, though she had no real cause to be on edge. 

It was the travel. Ever since her escape from Russia, she was never comfortable venturing too far from the school, especially if the journey required them to be anywhere near the ocean. It was silly, of course, since one could hear waves crash against the Cornish coast and view the expanse of water from her bedroom window at Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies.  

Natalie just wanted to arrive at the school without incident. They were already hours behind schedule, having been delayed this morning. And she hated to travel at night with the girls, but there was little choice. She certainly wasn’t going to stop at an inn. Not only did they travel without a man for protection, other than their driver, but those three would attract too much attention and who knew what kind of mischief they would get up to in an inn.

She held her small pocket watch up to the lantern inside the carriage. In less than an hour they would arrive home. She rubbed her thumb against the smooth surface and resisted the urge to tap her foot before letting out a sigh.

“Halt!” The sound of a deep male voice rang out and the carriage slowed.

Natalie startled and sat forward to peek out the window. It was so dark she couldn’t see a thing.

“Stand and deliver.”

This could not be happening. Her stomach clenched in panic. Was this why she was on edge? Had she sensed the danger?

The girls stirred. Natalie held up a hand, hoping to keep them calm. “Please, be very, very quiet and do not make a fuss,” she whispered in a voice, which bordered on a plea. She never knew when they would behave docile or foolish, and right now she prayed for docile.

Eliza strained to look out toward the front of the carriage. Rosemary yanked her back. “What are you doing?” she demanded in a hushed tone.

“What do you think?” Eliza countered. “I am trying to see if it is the Ghost.”

 Natalie’s heart seized at the mere mention of the rumored apparition, yet she couldn’t help but think of a different Ghost or a different time and place. While her Ghost, a Russian working as a spy for England, stole into diplomats’ houses for documents in Sankt Peterburg, this one stopped carriages in the English countryside and relieved gentlemen of their important papers. 

Besides taking documents, the two shared another trait. They both stole a kiss before disappearing into the night. The Ghost haunting the roads in England never harmed anyone, which caused the three girls in the carriage to romanticize him. 

Yet, why would the English Ghost stop this carriage? They weren’t carrying any important papers as Natalie was certain Eliza’s journal would not qualify.

Natalie stiffened. What if it were a different highwayman, one who would demand jewels, funds, or worse? Her heartbeat increased with mounting fear. The fact she had three innocent young women in her care put her all the more on edge.

Boots crunched against gravel as the man approached the carriage door. She slipped a hand into her pocket and grasped the small pistol she carried. None of the students knew she possessed such a weapon, and she hoped she did not need to use it, yet it brought her comfort all the same.

The door swung open. The stranger grabbed the lantern and thrust it into the confines of the carriage. The occupants gasped. Sophia clung to Natalie’s arm while Rosemary cowered against the squabs. Eliza, ever the bravest of them all, leaned forward and tried to peer around the light. Natalie stared at the intruder to see if she could determine any visible features, but it was impossible. Not only did having the light being so close to her face almost blind her, a dark hat was pulled over the highwayman’s head and a scarf covered all but his eyes. He slowly moved the lantern around the carriage, starting with Rosemary, then Eliza and finally Sophia, as if studying the girls’ faces. When the light stopped before her, Natalie could have sworn she heard a small gasp from the man, but she couldn’t be sure. He held the light before her for several moments, much longer than his study of the three girls combined. 

She raised a hand up to block the heat of the flame when she could not take any more.  “Would you mind removing that from my eyes?”

The man stepped back. “Come.”

Natalie gaped at his outstretched arm before snapping her gaze back to his shielded face.  “I will not leave this carriage.”

Without a word, the man placed the lantern back on the hook just inside the door, then reached in and grabbed Natalie’s wrist. 

Panic seized her throat, but she tried to remain calm for the sake of the girls. “Unhand me!” Her demand came out more of a croak than with the air of authority she was hoping for.

He laughed and gently yanked her arm. He did not hurt her, but his strength was evident when he pulled her from the seat. She attempted to jerk her arm back, but he would not give. Natalie planted her feet against the floor and refused to budge. The click of a gun resonated through the silence.

She wished she could see his eyes, or even a patch of skin for that matter. As far as she knew, the Ghost never hurt anyone. Then again, how could she be so certain this was the Ghost? Was she being foolish in not obeying him? If he were the Ghost, all he wanted was a kiss and would be on his way. A kiss was hardly consequential compared to the safety of the girls.

Her hand tightened around the gun in her pocket and she slipped her index finger around the trigger. The weight of the weapon offered comfort and calmed her nerves. Natalie rose from her seat and allowed the highwayman to assist her to the ground. She took a step away from the carriage, and he stuck his head back inside. She could not hear if he said anything, but he pointed to each one of her students. She could only see Eliza from this vantage point. The girl’s eyes grew large and she shrank away from him. 

Natalie did not hear a single sound from the girls when the stranger gently grasped her elbow and led her into the darkness. She glanced back and noted a second man sat poised on a horse facing the driver, a pistol in his hand. She always suspected the Ghost didn’t work alone.

Any wise person would take off the moment the assailant dismounted.

Her pulse increased the farther they walked. He didn’t stop until they were under a copse of trees and any light from the slight sliver of the moon was obliterated by the lush foliage above. 

“Close your eyes.” The tone of his low command sounded somewhat familiar. If she could only see his face, or if he would speak a little louder she might recognize him. As it was, she barely heard him.

“I will not.” She had no idea where the nerve came from. This strange man had a gun, though she saw no evidence of it at the moment, but she refused to do his bidding. He just stood there, as if waiting for her to do as ordered.

Since they were at a standstill and she had no desire to be out in the dampness all night, Natalie turned on her heel, ready to march away. She managed one step before he grabbed her elbow and whipped her around. She gasped at the sudden jerk that pulled her arm up and hand out of her pocket. Her finger involuntarily pulled the trigger. 

She stifled a scream and looked to see if the man was injured. His right hand covered his upper arm, but it was too dark to see if there was any blood. She forced herself to breathe past the constriction in her throat and slowly backed away. What would he do now? Her gun carried only one shot so she had nothing else with which to defend herself, or the girls. 

The highwayman stood there, not moving nor raising his weapon against her. Maybe he was too stunned.

Natalie continued to walk backward, her heart beating an erratic rhythm. When she was halfway between the highwayman and the carriage she turned and sprinted toward the girls.  With each step she expected to hear the sound of his gun and feel the burning sensation of a ball in her back, but it never came. The man on horseback raced past her toward her assailant with another steed in tow. Natalie lifted her skirt and ran, thankful the rider was more concerned with the Ghost than punishing them.

The girls were in the doorway, their faces pale. They backed away and Natalie launched herself inside, closed the door, and banged on the roof to alert the driver. In the breath of a moment the horses were racing to take them away from this area.

Anton Kazakov grinned into the darkness and watched the carriage pull away. He still could not believe she shot him. Though his arm throbbed from the initial impact, he expected the injury was nothing serious. He should be insulted, but Natasha could not have known it was him. Heaven knew, she had never objected to his kisses before. However, how could he be sure any of their past was true? Perhaps he should be glad for the disguise, because had she known it was him, she may have aimed for his heart.

“Did I hear gunshot?” Vanko Michalovic asked as he reached Anton, ever the loyal companion. Vanko had spent nearly a year in a Russian prison cell with him. When the opportunity for escape came, Anton took his friend and brought him to England. The man was younger, but they bonded, nearly as close as brothers in that hellhole.

He grimaced. “You did, my friend.”

“This is dangerous. Is it worth being killed over?”

Anton laughed. “I will no longer be stopping carriages.”

Vanko sighed, probably with relief and dismounted. “I’m glad to hear. I’m sure you will come up with plan.”

Anton grabbed the reins and mounted his horse. He clenched his jaw against the pain that shot through his arm. “No need.”

“You found her?” the other man asked with astonishment.

“Tonight,” he answered with a grin. “She shot me.”

Vanko’s laughter followed him as Anton turned his horse back toward the road and set off after the carriage. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found Natasha and he’d almost given himself away when her grey eyes had met his.

He shifted in his seat and adjusted the reins. His left hand grew numb and he glanced down at his arm, now drenched in blood. Had Natasha done more harm than he initially suspected? One would think he would be able to tell if he were seriously injured. Then again, perhaps not. How many times had he been convinced he was about to take his last breath while in prison only to live another day? Had the torture he endured numbed to him the pain of a life-threatening injury? He didn’t think it was possible. Still, he would check his arm once he returned to his new home. But first, he would follow Natasha. He needed to know where she lived and determine if Dimitri Petrov, her brother, was with her. He couldn’t imagine Dimitri would be far, but he never expected it to take almost a year to find her either.   

Did she and her brother still spy for the government? If so, why was she hiding here when she could have a comfortable life in Sankt Peterburg?

On reflection, he doubted either of them retained ties to Russia. The ruler they supported was now dead. Paul I had been assassinated shortly after Anton’s arrest. Natasha and Dimitri probably decided to return to England, comfortable and away from anyone who would ask questions. Not that it mattered to him. He wasn’t out to find Natasha for the pleasure of it. He was out for revenge. After nearly a year of searching the English countryside, he finally found her. The woman who betrayed him.  His wife.

To Walk in the Sun - Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies (Book 1)

To Walk in the Sun - the 1st book in the Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies

Hiding from a dangerous man, Tess Crawford thought The Wiggons School for Elegant Young Ladies would be the perfect place to disappear. Or it would be if the local villagers weren’t on edge because of the vampire in their midst. 

Vincent Latimer, Viscount Atwood, is not a vampire, no matter what the villagers believe.  When a storm thrusts Tess into Vincent’s path and destroys the school, both of their pasts collide. 

AVAILABLE AT: 

Amazon     Barnes & Noble     Kobo     iBooks

Frequently of a night, instead of retiring to his

consort's chamber, he repaired to Brunhilda's grave,

where he murmured forth his discontent,

saying: "Wilt thou sleep for ever?"

Wake Not the Dead

Johann Ludwig Tieck

One

Cornwall England, 1802

Lightning flashed in the distance and Tess Crawford gripped the ladder tight.  The wind whipped hair across her face and skirts against her legs. This was a perfect night. She looked up toward the open window.  It was past ten and her students should have been asleep by now.  At the very least, all lights should be extinguished, but candles flickered in Rosemary’s room. 

With slow deliberation, Tess inched her way to the destination. Upon reaching the top, she ducked to the side and listened. It would do no good for the girls to catch her.

“At length Walter, heated with wine and love, conducted his bride into the nuptial chamber:”

Yes, that was Eliza reading. Why wasn’t she surprised?

“…but, oh! horror! Scarcely had he clasped her in his arms ere she transformed herself into a monstrous serpent, which entwining him in its horrid folds, crushed him to death.” The voice rose with further anticipated horror.

Tess peeked around the corner of the window frame. One candle sat on the table and flickered with the breeze.  Further into the room, three girls sat huddled together, their robes wrapped around their legs.  A lamp burned brightly behind Eliza’s shoulder, casting a halo around her red curls.  Tess grinned.  Her timing could not have been more perfect.

“Flames crackled on every side of the apartment;” Eliza continued. “in a few minutes after, the whole castle was enveloped in a blaze that consumed it entirely: while, as the walls fell in with a tremendous crash, a voice exclaimed aloud -- "Wake not the dead!"

Tess blew out the candle by the bed and ducked out of sight.  In her most dramatic voice, she moaned, “Not the dead.”

Screams erupted from inside the room.  One of the girls slammed the window shut, apparently too frightened to notice the ladder or Tess, and yanked the curtains closed.  Tess bit her lip to keep her laughter inside.  She edged down the ladder when pounding erupted on the door.  “Girls, is everything all right?” Natalie, her friend and also a teacher, called.

The wind grew stronger as Tess hastened her descent before Mother Nature helped her to the ground in a most unpleasant manner.  She tipped the ladder so it lay on the ground and raced to the door.  She could not wait to hear the explanation the girls offered for their screams.

Sophia sighed and shot an irritated look at her cohorts.  “They thought the monster was at the window.”

“Monster?” Tess tried to hold back her laughter as she walked into Rosemary’s room.

“Yes.  The creature that lives in that old manor.”  Eliza explained.  Tess knew exactly which one she meant.  Lord Atwood’s house must date back at least a century or more, and it did look a bit spooky with its gabled windows and grey stone exterior with dark ivy creeping up the side and the gargoyle overlooking the portico entrance.  Of course, she would never admit such a thing to her students.

“It’s just like Wake Not the Dead,” Rosemary whispered.

This time Tess couldn’t help but laugh.  “Are you saying a vampire lives in Atwood Manor and he came here?”

“Yes,” Eliza insisted and the other two girls vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. Their curls bounced in rhythm to the movement.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Natalie asked and settled onto the bed. If Tess didn’t know better, she would think her friend was giving some credence to the girl’s irrational fears.

“Lord Atwood never goes out during the day,” Eliza answered, all knowing.

“Is that all the evidence you have?”  Tess crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, eyebrows raised waiting for the girl to continue. 

“No,” Eliza retorted.  “He died only to return from the grave after his wife willed him to.  Just like Walter did.  Except Lady Atwood perished upon his return and now Lord Atwood is doomed to be alone on this earth.” Eliza sighed, placing a hand over her heart and glanced toward the window.  She returned her focus to Tess; color high in her cheeks and eyes lit with excitement. Eliza continued the tale, or rumor rather, that circulated around their small village.  “Everyone knows he visits her grave every midnight because there are fresh flowers every morning.  Lord Atwood has not been able to bring his beloved back from the dead, yet.”  

Too bad Eliza was the daughter of a viscount.  Had she been common-born, no doubt she would make a nice living trodding the boards on Drury Lane. 

Tess leaned down and whispered, “But why would he come here?”

Eliza glanced toward the window. “Because he is hungry.”

Rosemary turned alarmingly pale.

Tess bit her lip. Perhaps she had taken this too far?  No, she argued with herself.  They were being ridiculous and the girls should know better. Still, Tess made a mental note to once again go through the library and remove any book that could possibly resemble a horrid novel. She thought she had found and hidden them all a week ago, but apparently Wake Not the Dead had been overlooked. 

Tess clapped her hands to get their attention. “Enough of this nonsense.  Lord Atwood is not a vampire, nor did he come here tonight.”

“But, who was at the window?” Sophia asked, her big blue eyes round with fear.

“The wind,” Tess said dismissively, not about to reveal the truth.  “That will teach you to read horrid novels when you should be asleep.”  Tess tapped her finger against her chin.  “This gives me an excellent topic for our literature lesson tomorrow.”

“Are we going to discuss Wake Not the Dead?”  Eliza bobbed with excitement.

“No. We are going to discuss the difference between fiction and nonfiction.”

Vincent Latimer, Earl of Atwood, pulled the collar up to his ears. Wind whipped the greatcoat out from his body. He grasped the front and buttoned it in haste while he glanced up to the overcast sky. Not even one star could be seen, but he knew they lay just beyond.  Lightning flashed.  There would be a wicked storm tonight. He grinned and stepped onto the road and turned toward the cemetery.

The walk was not long but he was glad he did not bring his hat. It would have blown off his head as soon as he stepped out from the protection of the front portico.  Thunder rumbled behind him. No doubt he would be soaked with rain by the time he left the cemetery.

Nearing the church, he stopped and looked around. The houses were closer here and each held well-tended gardens.  Who should he steal from tonight? 

A grin pulled at his lips. Mrs. Harpy had a lovely selection.  He hopped the low fence and strode into the back garden. However, since he was taking a bouquet from the woman’s gardens, he should at least think of her by her proper name, Mrs. Harper. 

He shook his head and withdrew the scissors from his deep pocket.  No, Harper was too kind of a name for her.  After all, Harpy was the one who first fueled the gossip when his wife died.  The flame ignited, and ever since he had been deemed the most feared monster of history and lore.  On the other hand, it did benefit him.  Everyone knew he took the bouquets from the gardens in the neighborhood, yet no one would ever reproach him. They were too afraid. 

It also served his lifestyle well.  By using the gardens owned by his neighbors, he did not have to employ a gardener for his own.  The less people who lived on his estate the better. Besides, what would the neighbors think if he did not visit his wife’s grave at midnight? What else would they have to talk about?

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He glanced toward the house.  Harpy stood in the upstairs window watching him.  She stepped back into the shadows, but he knew she could still see him.  Vincent flashed his teeth at her and growled.  Her silhouette disappeared.  The woman was probably cowering in her bed, or her husband’s. He doubted Mr. Harper would thank him.

Vincent turned back to study the garden.  There was little to choose from as fall was descending and many of the fragrant summer flowers he preferred were long dead.  He selected mums, asters and late blooming roses.  From his pocket he withdrew a pink ribbon and tied it to hold the arrangement together. 

 Tess paced in the front parlor, too on edge to sleep. It was easier to control her anxiety over the storm brewing in the distances when she was focused on the student or conversing over tea with the other teachers in the school, as she had done tonight.  However, everyone retired a short time ago but she knew she would not find rest tonight, not when she was now alone with her thoughts.  She grabbed her cloak and stepped out on to the porch. Leaves flew, carried by the fierce winds.   Energy surrounded her and she could not stay inside.  She glanced up at the house. The lamp still burned in Rosemary’s room. She would need to speak to the girls about their late hours, but knew she had brought on their fright tonight.

With a shake of her head, she started down the road.  Tonight was no different from the night her life irrevocably changed. 

No, she would not think about that now. If she did, she would never sleep. What she needed was a walk.  The storm was a little ways off to the southwest, coming in off the Channel, and she had only the wind to contend with at the moment.  Once she strolled the area, she would be able to retire.

Tess pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked down the lane toward the village.  Nobody was out at night and she preferred it this way.  The others did not understand her need for these evening strolls nor did she wish to explain. They each had their own secrets that brought them back to the school where they met, to become teachers.

In truth, Tess did not go out at night all that often. Only when there was a storm brewing.  It helped to chase her demons away.  The demons that only visited her on nights such as this.

All of the houses were dark, for which she was grateful. Her cloak was black so if someone peered out a window, they might not even see her.  If they did, the hood covered her head and hid her face.  It would not serve the school well if someone reported that she was seen out and about alone so close to midnight.  If someone did catch her, would she be labeled a monster as well?  A smile pulled at her lips at the ridiculous thought.

She started to pass the cemetery, but did not glance in that direction.  Tess did not want to know if Lord Atwood actually visited there each night and she refused to give credence to the rumors.  Besides, if the man had any intelligence, he wouldn’t be walking around on a night like this anyway.

Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up and whipped around her, blowing the hood off of her head.  Perhaps she should return home. It appeared the storm was much closer than she realized.

An ominous crack, sharper than thunder, sounded overhead. Tess looked up but before she could determine the source a large body flattened her. 

The trapped air left her body in one great whoosh.  Though from fear or being crushed to the ground she couldn’t tell.  She looked into the almost black eyes of Lord Atwood. His cloaked arm came up and covered her face in blackness as his head descended to her neck.

Rattled

Rattled - the first book in the Baxter Boys Series.

She enters the tattoo shop with an envelope full of memories and a heart filled with longing. What she leaves with is more than she dreamed of, and it just might be the first step to healing the wounds of the past.

Rattled is a short story and was originally published in the anthology "Forget Me Not: Charity Anthology Supporting Alzheimers and Brain Health" 

*** Recommended for adult readers only due to adult language.

Available and FREE

Amazon          iBooks          Kobo

Kelsey

I shake out my hands, take a deep breath, but continue pacing in the green room. Why am I so nervous? This is all I’ve thought about for over a year. I’ve saved every penny and existed on ramen noodles just so I could get this done. And it has to be today. And it has to be here. The Reeds are and have some of the best tattoo artists around and I can’t just trust this to anyone.

I’m not alone in here. There are others, all waiting to see a tattoo artist, but I’m not really paying attention to them. I’m too anxious to just sit and make idle chitchat with a stranger.

I planned ahead and made the appointment weeks ago, but instead of getting on the schedule, I was asked if I’d be interested in letting one of the artists being auditioned for the show do my tat. At first, I rejected the option. This was an important tattoo and I didn’t want it fucked up by an amateur. But then I went back and watched the previous shows. The Reeds don’t just let anyone walk in off the streets and start tattooing, or even audition. The artists are vetted way before they are trusted to apply ink. So after thinking about it further, and knowing the price is half of what I’d saved for the occasion, I called back and asked if I could still participate.

It’s probably better that I didn’t get one of the Reed brothers anyway. I’ve watched since their show first aired and if I came face to face with any one of them I’d probably go all fan girl and humiliate myself. Today is going to be hard enough.

It’s already hard.

I clutch the worn manila envelope close to my chest. Everything that’s important to me is in here. It’s with me always. If it’s not in my big purse, it’s in my backpack. It goes everywhere I go, and what I want is in there.

My stomach churns and I take a deep breath. I just hope to hell that whoever I get assigned to doesn’t fuck this up.

Alex

I’ve checked my station five times. I have everything I could possibly need for a tat. All I can do now is wait for the skin to get here.

I just hope she’s clear in what she wants, and that she’s not difficult to please. I’ve done tats that are perfect, yet sometimes customers are just never happy, and others have remorse. But for the most part, everyone has been happy with my work, often returning and referring customers. I need one of those today. This is too important and I don’t need a bitch or an asshat showing up, being a pain in the ass.

I need to land a spot on the show. I need to work for the Reeds.

I’m good at what I do. Damn good. But they’re better. Nobody is as good as they are, and anyone who gets an opportunity to work with the Reeds will only get better.

Once I’m on the show, I’ll have a regular paying job and I’ll be creating art. In time, I’ll have name recognition and will be able to do what I really want.

The door starts to open and I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Your skin is here, Mr. Dosek,” says one of the producers.

A young woman steps through the door. Her dark head is down and she’s clutching a wrinkled and stained manila envelope to her chest. The door closes and she slowly looks up.

Her brown eyes meet mine and widen. “What the fuck?” she says by way of greeting.

I glance around. There is a cameraman watching my every move and recording everything I say. Is this some kind of joke? Are the Reeds really auditioning me or is this about to turn into a bad episode of “What Would You Do?”

I shake the stupid thought from my head. How could the Reeds, their producers, or anyone know of my connection to Kelsey Fry? I haven’t seen her in five years. Not since I graduated from Baxter Academy of Arts.

“Hi Kelsey, how have you been?”

“Are you really the artist?”

I hold out my hands palms up and smile. “Yep.”

She turns to the door. “Well, I want someone else.”

If she walks out now, it’s a fail. Immediate crash and burn. Besides being a great tattoo artist, people skills and customer service are also at the top of the list to get hired. I won’t get another chance if she leaves. I’ll be shown the door. “Please?” I hate to beg, but I will. “Don’t go. This is too important to me.”

Kelsey slowly turns, her mouth open and dark eyes wide. “Too important to you?” she asks with indignation. “This,” she thrusts out the envelope, “is too important to me, and you are the last person I want doing my ink.”

I can’t really blame her. I was a fucking dick to her back then. I hated her for what she’d done and a part of me still holds a lot of resentment for her actions. But I have to set it all aside. Make it right, at least until the tat is done. My future depends on it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” she yells.

I take a deep breath. “Listen, I was seventeen. I had a chip on my shoulder. I was an ass and I treated you like shit.”

“You got that right.”

“It was also a long time ago.”

“Not that long.” She snorts and then narrows her eyes on me. “And I’m supposed to believe you’ve changed? That you’re no longer a dickwad?”

I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure I can still be that, but not in here. Not with you, and never, ever when I’m doing a tat.”

“I still don’t want you touching me.” She takes a step back and I rush forward.

“Listen, I swear that it will be the best tat you’ve ever had. It will be perfect and exactly what you want. Please, don’t walk out. You won’t get another artist and I’ll get booted.”

She frowns, biting her bottom lip. “I can’t just switch with someone? Others are waiting in the room. I’ll just ask one of them to trade.”

“If I lose a customer, I’m out.”

“I can explain—”

“It won’t matter.” I step closer. “Please, Kelsey, I need this. It’s a chance for a break and I could really use one.”

Her brown eyes study me as she bites her bottom lip again. It seems like forever before she says anything. “Do you promise not to give me any shit for what I want, or why?”

I hold up my hands like I’m surrendering. “I swear I won’t.”

“I mean it, because you aren’t going to like what I want, and I’ll be damned if I have to listen to your opinions on the matter again.”

My gut tightens. What the hell does she want? We’ve only disagreed once, when I yelled at her for being a selfish stupid bitch. We never talked again after that. Just glares in classrooms and on campus. Thankfully, we didn’t have that many classes together because I was a year older and our art concentration was different. “I swear. I have no opinions or thoughts in this room except for what the customer wants. There are some things I’m morally against, but it isn’t my skin.”

“Would you turn someone away if they wanted something you are morally against?”

“I have twice before.”

“Then I might as well head for the door now because you’ve made your opinions of my choices very clear.”

“Wait!” I have to stop her before she’s gone. “I’m sure whatever you want doesn’t come close to my moral compass code.”

She snorts. “Really? I’m not so sure.”

“Unless you want a swastika, I’m sure there is nothing you can suggest that I’d find offensive.”

She turns, a look of disgust on her face. “God no! Do people really get those?”

I shrug. “I’ve seen them. I just don’t do them.”

She tilts her head and studies me. “Anything else on your list I should know about?”

“Nope, that’s pretty much it—or any hate symbol, for that matter.”

She’s nodding, studying me, back to biting her bottom lip. “Are you any good?”

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” I grin.

She doesn’t return it. “Your ego has never been in question. Are you any good? Because this is important.”

I’m not going to win her over with apologies. “I am good. One of the best. And trust me, this is just as important to me.”

Again she studies me, and it’s almost like I can see her battling with a decision behind those dark brown eyes. Slowly she holds the envelope out to me. “You better not fuck it up, and you better not give me any shit.”

I assume there’s a picture of whatever she wants on her body in the envelope. I reach out for it. Her hands are shaking and if I’m honest, so are mine. Seeing her for the first time since high school, and remembering how much I resented her and made her life hell, has me unsettled. I’m afraid karma is about to bite me on the ass.

She lets go before I can grab the envelope and it falls to the ground. A small pink rattle rolls out onto the floor.

She may be anxious about all this, but seeing what just came out of that envelope has me a bit rattled too.

The old anger at what she did surges, but I force it away. She’s a client. I won’t judge her for her decisions or actions. I may have then, but I won’t today. Not in this room. And not when I have so much to lose.

When the tat is done, and I’ve made the show, then I can go back to resenting Kelsey Fry once again.

Lady Revealed - a Tenacious Trent Novel

Jerrica Knight-Catania has tagged me in a blog hop so here is some information about my upcoming release, Lady Revealed...

1: What is the working title of your book? Lady Revealed

2: Where did the idea come from for the book? It is the fifth story in the Tenacious Trent’s series which began two years ago and it is now time to tell Julia’s story.

3: What genre does your book come under? Historical set during the Regency Period.

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? Hmmm, this is always difficult. I think Amy Adams as Juliette Mirabelle a/k/a Julia Trent, but I can’t settle on any one actor for Drake Fenton, Viscount Acker.

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? Viscount Acker wanted Juliette the moment he saw the ballerina perform, but she isn't who he thinks she she.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency? Pubbed under the Night Shift umbrella.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? 2 months but the editing process has taken over twice that. Keeping my fingers crossed that I meet the end of July deadline.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? I have no idea.  There are many historical authors that I would love to compare myself to, but I know I am not even close, so I will leave it at that.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book? Oh, I am not sure, to tell you the truth.  The idea for the series was formed when I wrote the first novella, Compromised for Christmas, which was part of four book, twelve story anthology written with my critique partners. From that the Tenacious Trents were born.

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest? It is different from what I’ve read before. The story begins at the ballet in Milan, Italy where the hero and heroine meet and it continues in England with my heroine still wishing to dance but finding out she is not really Juliette Mirabelle.

Here's an excerpt:

                Acker took a step closer to Juliette. “I will if you dance for me.”

She stared up into his eyes. “I have a performance tonight.  I cannot tire myself.”

“A waltz instead.” He wanted to hold her and remain close to her, if not closer, and the waltz was the only thing he could think of to bring her into his arms, without simply pulling her there.

Juliette bit her bottom lip and her eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve never waltzed before.”

How could she come to be the age she was, be a dancer and not yet waltzed? Of course, even though it was popular in Vienna, it was still frowned upon by many in London who considered it an immoral entertainment.  “I’ll teach you.”

Acker lifted her left hand and placed it on his shoulder before grasping her right and slide his hand about her waist. Neither wore gloves and his warmth enveloped her cool touch. 

“Have you at least seen a couple waltz?” he asked before they began.

Juliette nodded.

He blew out a sigh. Though he knew well enough how the steps moved, he wasn’t at all certain he could teach. “It is a three step dance,” he began and stepped out.  “Follow my movements.”  She stepped out as he had, and brought her next foot over when he put his feet together.  He then stepped forward yet Juliette did not move immediately and was pressed against his body.  She quickly matched his movement, her face turning a lovely shade of pink.

They repeated the steps a few more times and Juliette adjusted quickly, much to Acker’s disappointment. He rather enjoyed having her pressed against him.  So much sensation from touch was usually lost through the layers of clothing a gentleman was required to wear, but her dress was not thick and as he wore only his shirtsleeves. 

Soon he began executing turns and Juliette adapted to each movement.  She was a dancer after all so he shouldn’t be surprised.  He twirled her from one end of the room to the other in complete silence. They did not need music nor did they need to speak.  Their eyes were locked and the sway of her body was a perfect match for his. He drew her closer and closer until they were practically one, in perfect harmony with each other. 

As the moved down the room, Acker guided her toward the settee.  He slowed as they came to the sitting area, dropped her hand and pulled her against his body.  She brought her other hand up to rest on his shoulder and didn’t try to pull away. 

Acker gently tightened his hold and lowered his mouth to hers.

Compromised for Christmas

Compromise for Christmas, a novella, will be released on Tuesday. I know, it is strange to release a Christmas story in June, be there are very good reasons (I think).  Compromised at Christmas first appeared in A Summons from His Grace. It later appeared in a compilation, Scots, Spies & Salacious Lies. The reason it is now going solo is because it was the first Tenacious Trent story written.  These brothers and sisters were only characters in my mind and have became a family I love writing about.

Lady Elizabeth craved excitement and adventure. Unwilling to endure further boring Seasons, she convinces her uncle, who has lived a more adventurous life than anyone else she knew, to let her work for him. A few years later Elizabeth was established in Tuileries Castle, a servant in Napoleon’s court known as Lisette Renard.

John Phillip Trent has been working in the stables of Tuileries as Jean Pierre Bouvier for the past two years. His only English contact being Lisette Renard, a lovely blond lass, who he desired but kept at a professional arm’s length.

When Lisette receives a summons to return home for Christmas, John learns that she is none other than the granddaughter of the Duke of Danby and she had named Jean Pierre as her husband. Their cover is compromised with the same letter and the two find themselves escaping the palace and France, knowing they could very well never see each other again and must face the truth of how they truly feel for the other.

A Reluctant Rake

A Reluctant Rake is the newest Tenacious Trent novel, released on April 1, 2013.

Mr. Jordan Trent, the spare, was raised to be a rake.  Not only did his father encourage his roguish life, but insisted that Jordan do nothing except enjoy the life of women, gambling and fine brandy – the life his father had wanted.  It is a life Jordan enjoyed until he realized something, or someone, very important was missing.

Miss Audrey Montgomery had been warned to avoid rakes like Jordan Trent but fell under his spell like so many ladies before her.  She should have known better and vows to protect her heart whenever he is near. If only his kisses weren’t so delicious it would be so much easier. 

A Reluctant Rake is the fifth Tenacious Trent Story.  If you wish to catch up on the family, the stories appear in the following order:


Compromised at Christmas is a short novella featuring John Trent and can be found in either A Summons from His Grace or 

Scots, Spies and Salacious Lies

Miss Elizabeth Whitton craved excitement and adventure. Unwilling to endure one boring Season after another, she convinces her uncle in the Home Office to let her work for him. * John Phillip Trent has been spying for the Home Office in the stables of Tuileries as Jean Pierre Bouvier for more than two years, his only English contact – Lisette Renard a servant girl inside the palace. * When a summons from the Duke of Danby slips through the proper channels, both Elizabeth and John’s covers are compromised. To escape the palace and France with their lives, they’ll have to depend on each other and the miracle of Christmas. (Compromised at Christmas was original published in A Summons from His Grace) This is the first story in the Tenacious Trents Series.

A Misguided Lord

            It is time for Clayton Trent, Earl of Bentley, to take a bride.  He knows exactly what he needs and the type of lady who should become his Countess.  His life is orderly, scandal free and exactly the way it should be until Miss Eleanor Westin careens into him, upsetting the perfect balance of his world.  She is everything his father said he should not marry.  Yet, he cannot put her from his mind, not even when a decade old scandal threatens the very foundation of his family.

            Miss Eleanor Westin has spent her life in the country on the brink of poverty and raising her siblings after the death of her parents until her grandfather finally decides to do his duty and brings her to London.  Eleanor simply wants to find a gentleman who is willing to take on her family in the bargain.  Love is not even a consideration if she can land security.  Unfortunately, the only gentleman who has made any offer is Lord Bentley, and he will never do.  If only he would stay out of her dreams so she could forget him and his intoxicating kisses.

A Perfect Gentleman

Matthew Trent always knew what was expected of him and that was to become the Perfect Vicar and a Perfect Gentlemen. When Grace Cooper enters his life he is forced to face what he really wishes to become.

Grace Cooper has three options for marriage available to her in the small village where she resides. However, Grace would rather be placed on the shelf than enter into a miserable union.

When someone threatens her father and then makes an attempt on her life, it is Vicar Trent who vows to protect her and brings scandal to her doorstep, upsetting the delicate balance of both of their worlds.

A Lass for Christmas (Novella)

Lady Madeline Trent had grand plans for her future until she learned her family’s awful secret. When a fall through an icy lake lands her in the arms of a handsome Scot, her future is more unsure than ever.

Lachlan Grant, the Marquess of Brachton, may hold an English title, but he's a Scot through and through. He's bound and determined to marry a lass just as Scottish as he is, at least until his fate is altered one snowy night.

A Lass for Christmas is a novella of approximately 27,000 words and the fourth story in the Tenacious Trents series.